


Moderately Addictive

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drug Dealing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High School AU. The story of how Konstantin (HSAU Heavy) and Albrecht (HSAU Medic) started dating.  </p><p>Fairly SFW, with mentions of NSFW internet searches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moderately Addictive

They had agreed that Thursday afternoons were for English practice. At first, Albrecht had said that would be the blind leading the blind, but Konstantin was insistent. He said the German spoke English better than he did, but since it was also a second language for him, he wouldn’t laugh when his classmate made a mistake. So it went that on Thursdays, when Konstantin got out of Chemistry and was done for the day and Albrecht had a free period between Contemporary World History and Economics, they’d sit out under the big tree by the library, and practice. 

"I thought perhaps we could try some poetry," Albrecht ventured. "The language structures in verse are a bit more complicated than in everyday speech. I thought it would make for a good challenge." 

Konstantin shrugged his massive shoulders. “We can try,” he answered simply. He had never invited any of his classmates to visit his home, so he didn’t think Albrecht knew about his shelves of Russian poetry. He wasn’t sure how this would go.

Albrecht flipped to a bookmarked page. 

“‘Grr, there go my heart’s abhorrence, water your damned flowerpots, do! If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence, God’s Blood, would not mine kill you.’ Now you.”

“‘Grr’ is part of it?”

"Yes, it’s right there. See? ‘Grr’."

"Grr."

"Grr!"

"GRARR!"

Konstantin’s voice was really quite loud when he put any force to it, and Albrecht jumped, and Konstantin laughed. Albrecht slowly began to laugh with him, and they carried on like that until they both sighed and drifted into silence. For some reason, Albrecht thought it would be strange at this point to make eye contact with his classmate, so he concentrated instead on the book in his lap. 

"Would you like to read the next verse?" he prompted, keeping his gaze on the page. Konstantin had to lean over to read the words, and Albrecht thought it would be rude to scoot away, but was crossing some boundary by remaining. 

“‘What? Your mire-tull bush wants trimming?’ Oh, that rose—”

"—Myrtle. It’s a… it’s an aromatic shrub with white flowers. Keep going."

“I did not know that was how it was spelled in English. Alright. ‘What? Your myrtle bush wants trimming? Oh, that rose has prior claims— Needs its leaden vase filled brimming? Hell dry you up with its flames!’ …This poet seem a little… What is word. I just learned it. Scatological?” 

"Seems. And yes, the quatrains alternate in affect. It is the monologue of a monk who hates another monk, so some of the parts are how he actually feels, and the rest are how he sounds when he’s playing nice."

"Mm," Konstantin replied. "Your turn."

“‘At the meal we sit together; salve tibi! I must hear, wise talk of the kind of weather, sort of season, time of year: Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely, dare we hope oak-galls, I doubt?—’”

"What is ‘oak-galls’?"

"I have no idea. Something to do with gardening, I suppose."

"Does it matter to the text?"

"No, it doesn’t seem to."

"Well then, go on. You skipped me, and read ahead."

"Oh! I did. Apologies. It’s just, there was a colon there and I thought it would be strange to break—" He received a flat look from Konstantin. "Ah. Yes. ‘Dare we hope oak-galls, I doubt? What’s the Latin name for “parsley?” What’s the Greek name for Swine’s Snout?’”

"Heh."

"Why don’t you read two bits, as well?"

"Ehh…" Konstantin had to lean closer the farther they got down the page, and at this point his chest pressed against Albrecht’s shoulder. 

Albrect could feel himself panicking and tried to reason with himself, using the language his father would use: you’re experiencing a clash of expectations. You know he comes from a large family, and he probably has a different standard for what is a normal amount of physical contact. This is nothing to be concerned about, merely something to understand. 

He took a deep breath, as Konstantin located the verse.

“‘Whoo?’ Okay, ‘Whoo’, then. ‘Whoo! We’ll have our platter burnished, laid with care on our own shelf! With a fire-new spoon we’re furnished, and a goblet for ourself. Rinsed like something —’ eh.” He paused, slipped his hand into Albrecht’s lap to lift the book. Albrecht froze, entirely. “Sac- Sacker…” 

“‘Sacrificial’”, Albrecht supplied quietly.

“‘Like something sacrificial, ere ’tis fit to touch our chaps’— Chaps? Oh! Lips. ‘Marked with L. for our initial! Hee-hee! There his lily snaps!’”

Carefully, Albrecht plucked the book from his classmate’s fingers. “This is my second-favourite bit in this poem,” he said, before clearing his throat to begin. “‘Saint, forsooth! While brown Dolores squats outside the convent bank, with Sanchicha, telling stories, steeping tresses in the tank… Blue-black, lustrous, thick like horsehairs— Can’t I see his dead eye glow, bright as ’twere a Barbary corsair’s? That is, if he’d let it show!’” He grinned at his friend and Konstantin studied the text. 

"Why is it you like this verse?"

"Oh, I don’t know. I like the way it, ah. It illustrates the speaker’s lust for some nuns bathing in the river or something. He projects it onto Brother Lawrence but it’s obviously his own desire."

"Hm. Okay. Now I go."

As Konstantin read, Albrecht watched his face. He corrected his classmate’s pronunciation here and there, but mostly, he watched the way the wrestler attempted English elocution. His eyebrows stayed furrowed, but his mouth was very expressive: very subtle twitches conveyed his frustration with a word, but he wore a slight curl of the upper lip when he spoke with conviction.

With a hastily waved hand from Albrecht, he continued through four quatrains, until he stopped at a word and passed the book between them again. “This word?” he asked.

"Galatians. I am to assume it’s a book of the Bible, or somesuch thing. Here: ‘There’s a great text in Galatians, once you trip on it, entails twenty-nine distinct damnations— one sure, if another fails. If I trip him just a-dying, sure of heaven as sure as can be, spin him round and send him flying, off to hell, a Manichee?’"

"A manatee?"

"A Manichee. I don’t know what that is, either."

"Why did you pick a poem that is full with so many words you do not know?Also, so many words that are not English…" 

"It is an old poem! Robert Browning, for goodness sake! It’s not going to be all modern colloquialisms… Can you imagine: ‘Like, oh my god, there goes that guy I totally don’t like, watering his stupid flowers like always. Ugh, if looks could kill I’d give him such a glare, I swear!’ … It loses some of its panache, don’t you think? What? WHAT? Stop laughing, it wasn’t that funny! Stop it!” He smacked Konstantin’s arm and the wrestler only laughed harder.

"You are very funny guy," he managed, still chuckling. 

"No I am not!"

"Yes. Is true. You are funny little guy."

"I am not little!”

"Alright, okay. Here, give poem." 

"You mean, ‘give me the poem’.”

"Now you are just mean. Is okay. Most people are little next to me." 

"I’m not!”

"Give me the poem.”

"You really should say ‘please’."

Konstantin smirked at his classmate’s pout. 

"Give me the poem, please,” he ammended.

"Alright, then." Albrecht handed the book to his classmate, still scowling.

"Would you go out with me?" 

"That was spoken very well, but I think you meant, ‘Would you hang out with me, after school’.”

"Why would I mean that?"

"Because the way you said it implies a… a romantic context. Like a, like a date!" he insisted, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

"Yes, I know. Am not that stupid.”

"So you’re asking me on a date? On purpose?" Albrecht sat back from his friend in shock.

"Well," Konstantin tilted his head curiously. "Yes." 

"I. Need to think about that. Excuse me." He gathered his bag and his notebooks and scurried away, leaving Konstantin holding the book of poetry, confused, and perhaps a little bit hurt.

—————

Albrecht did think about it. He thought about it throughout his Econ class, and he thought about it on his way home. He thought about it as he slogged through his homework, and at the dinner table, and in the shower, and when he finally collapsed into bed. He turned over and over again, and could not relax. 

What on earth— well, he assumed he knew what Konstantin meant by asking that of him. But, nobody ever— and certainly not a boy but if he really thought about it… 

As quietly as he could, he got up and turned on his computer, carrying his pillow with him to muffle the sound of the modem connecting to the internet. Once again he was glad he’d asked for a personal computer for Christmas the year before, instead of the 19th century embalming set he’d been eyeing in the curiosity shop’s window. He’d hate to be doing this kind of search in the family room in the middle of the night. 

"What to do if a boy asks you out", he typed into the AOL search bar. He played a quick game of spider solitaire while he waited for the page to load. When the results popped up, he combed through a few pages, looking for anything that might help his cause. Finding he did not care about ‘Cassandra, 16, Michigan’, nor anybody else quoted in Seventeen Magazine online, he decided he’d have to narrow his search. 

He almost dreaded even typing his query, not knowing if things were about to get seedy, or if he could get viruses just from searching something— how did Browning put it— scrofulous. They hadn’t even gotten to that verse before he’d run off. How was he going to apologize to Konstantin? 

How was he going to answer his friend’s question?

"Boys who date boys" seemed an innocent enough search. Still, he got more results from Cosmo: “How to date MEN and not boys!”, “10 Reasons Why Women Date Bad Boys”, “Is That Boy No Good? How to tell from the very first date!” 

Finally, biting his lip, he typed “gay”, and hit ‘search’. He was too scared to elaborate any farther than that. There were a few (in some ways terrifying) articles about the AIDS Memorial Quilt, some celebrity gossip over who may or may not be gay (a lot of conjecture about a number of boy bands, as well as the Spice Girls), but then at the bottom of the fourth page, an online quiz, titled simply enough, “Are You Gay?” Despite his locked door, he looked over his shoulder before clicking. 

Much of the quiz had to do with American pop culture he might have missed by being in Germany. He couldn’t choose which movies starred Liza Minelli, nor could he pick out what songs were or weren’t by Cher, but according to the quiz, he was 45% gay, whatever that meant. 

The next question, of course, was: if he was gay, what was he supposed to do about it? “What do gay men do” seemed like an appropriate query, but he blushed to the ears when the first page was all results like, “What kind of sex do gay men have?”, “How do gay men have sex?”, “What do gay men do to keep their rock hard bodies?”, and “What do gay men do to keep their partners satisfied?”

Guiltily, he minimized that window for later, and opened a new one. “What do gay men do on a date” yielded a few more promising results (albeit still interspersed with “Gay Men: Do You Have Sex on the First Date?” and “How do you know when to put sex on the menu? Dating tips for gay men”). Instead he clicked a safe-looking link entitled, “A Gay Man’s First Date— Dos, Don’ts, and Duhs”. What followed was a list of personal anecdotes, in serif font on a cleanly laid-out page, centered, with a photo of an amicable looking fellow in glasses and a lavender sweater at the top.

"Do plan ahead," the article said. "Know where you’re going and when." "Do keep it short and simple." "Don’t pick a venue where you won’t talk, like a movie, or a play." "Don’t stress." Well that was all fine and good, but he doubted he could comply with the last part. 

Of course, that was assuming he told Konstantin “yes”.

Could he bear to tell him “no”?

Did he want to?

Should he be afraid for his life if he refused the affections of a huge, Russian wrestler?

What if Konstantin tried to kiss him?

He thought on that for a moment, imagined himself in the empty hallway, sorting through his locker, closing the door to find Konstantin on the other side. Just a few steps and it would be easy for the wrestler to box Albrecht in, push him up against his own locker, and… and kiss him. 

He felt a little hot. 

What would it be like? 

What if he tried to kiss Konstantin?

What if, one day when they were out under that tree, he slid himself into his classmate’s lap, wrapped arms around his neck, and kissed him?

… He went back to his internet search.

He hesitated a moment before maximizing the previous search. After hovering his cursor over the link for a moment, analyzing the URL and trying to decide if it was a questionable site or not, he clicked the first link: “What kind of sex do gay men have?” 

It was some kind of online magazine, with a pink header, and links to other articles on both sides of the page. At least it wasn’t all word art and spinny little animations and things. 

In bold type it listed a variety of sex acts, some of which he’d never even heard of. It then described each one, gave vernacular names for them, indicated the risk of sexually transmitted diseases, and outlined methods to prevent infection. He wondered how many of his classmates had performed these acts, who among them knew how to properly ‘finger’ or ‘rim’. Who had practiced ‘frottage’, and who had participated in ‘mutual masturbation’? He tried to imagine himself doing these things, and quickly turned away from the screen. 

His palms felt sweaty and he felt a warmth in his gut he wasn’t fully willing to cop to. Certainly it was a feeling he’d experienced before; it was perfectly normal for a healthy boy his age. But he wasn’t the sort to have dirty magazines stuffed under his mattress, and he’d never gone looking for ‘internet porn’ as people called it. He’d gotten by largely on the physical sensation of his own hand where others his age stole Victoria’s Secret catalogs from their mothers and sisters. He took several deep breaths, fists white-knuckled as he tried to calm down, tried to work up the nerve to turn his computer chair back to the monitor, at the very least so he could close the page and delete his search history. 

Still. Any knowledge was good knowledge, and he found himself navigating away from that page to another article, and another, on a full range of topics from what to wear on a first date, to how to suppress a gag reflex. He reminded himself, fairly constantly, that this was merely research, and not the sort of thing he should touch himself thinking about, but as the hours ticked by, he became more willing to admit that the mere thought of these acts was doing something to his body. It was a little more difficult to acknowledge that his mind helpfully supplied the image of his good friend Konstantin engaging in these acts with him. When he glanced at the clock and it was nearly 4:00 in the morning, he hastily closed the page and clicked ‘clear history’ in his task bar. The stirring in his pajama pants would go down as he slept, he reasoned. He could go without. He’d done so before. 

He listened while his computer whirred and clicked its way through shutting down, and tried to find a comfortable way to sleep, running through a list of the most unpleasant images he could conjure to will his erection down.

Eventually, he fell into a restless sort of half-sleep, waking frequently from lurid and all-too-vivid dreams. 

—————

Albrecht could barely stay awake on his way to school and couldn’t concentrate in Trigonometry II, and at the break between classes, went digging in his bag for some change to buy a coffee, only to come up with a sackful of Ritalin. Well, 10mg of that would definitely improve his focus, so after a brief deliberation, he popped one little white tablet and hit a drinking fountain to wash it down. 

He hadn’t ever dipped into his own supply before, really. Maybe a painkiller here and there, for a persistent headache or somesuch thing, but never the stimulants. As he gulped down water to mute the bitter flavour, he thought about the few dollars he could have made off of that pill, instead. 

Halfway through his AP Biology lesson he felt noticably more energized. Those long ‘restate the question in the answer’ handouts seemed less trying, and his note-taking seemed effortless. With this kind of energy, he thought, talking to Konstantin should be a piece of cake. If he simply disassociated, perhaps he could avoid burning with shame at the obscene thoughts still circling in his head since the night before. Perhaps, perhaps. 

Even by lunchtime he was still going strong, and he set out to find his friend, feeling hopeful. He spotted Konstantin’s towering figure in the lunch line and was about to head over when his beeper went off. He recognized the number as that of a pay phone outside a convenience store a block and a half from the gate by the lunch yard. That was enough information for him, and as he set off for the gate, Konstantin happened to turn. Their eyes met, and Albrecht smiled and waved, before nodding at the security guard at the gate and making a bee-line for the corner store.

As he approached, he saw the lanky figure of one of his best customers, leaning against the brick wall by the pay phone. The figure held up a hand in salutation, and when Albrecht drew near enough, the other boy caught his hand to pull him into a sort of shoulder/chest bump. This was fairly standard.

"Hello, Sebastian," he greeted pleasantly. 

"Aw, man, c’mon, ain’t I told you a million times to call me Seb? Or Sebo. The Seb-man, the Sebinator, Seberino—don’t look at me like that, all’s I’m sayin’ is, you got options."

"Let me guess, only your mother calls you Sebastian?"

"Naw, my Ma calls me Scooter. But don’t go spreading that around. Anyway, whatchu got for me, Doc?"

"Pretty much the usual suspects. Let’s take a walk, shall we?"

Passing a closed storefront, Albrect said, “Methylphenidate, oxycodone, diazepam—”

"In English, Doc."

"Ritalin, Percocet, Valium, Xanax— Oh! I have a few tablets of Luminal, but these barbiturates are hard to come by so I don’t have so many."

"Any Dex?"

"Dexamfetamine? No, not today."

"Man, what is it with you and these downers?"

"Ritalin isn’t a ‘downer’, as you call it."

"I thought it was s’posed to slow down ADHD kids."

"It’s a psychostimulant. In individuals with ADD or ADHD it improves focus. In neurotypical individuals, it does that, and also has an energizing effect. Do you have ADD?"

"What?! No! ‘Course not! Fuck you."

"No need to get defensive. I’m merely asking. It has a fairly quick absorbtion rate and a duration of 4-6 hours, I hear. But, as I took one myself this morning I shall let you know how long this goes." He smiled broadly at the other boy, noticing the way sunlight reflected off of the sizing sticker on his baseball cap.

"Oh yeah? You’d recommend it, then?"

"We’ll see if I suffer any adverse effects later, but right now things are hunky-dory!"

Sebastian laughed. “Man, who talks like that? Seriously.”

"I’m selling at 5 dollars a pill, if you’re interested." 

"Steep. But alright, I’ll do ya the favor." He grinned back at Albrecht, all buckteeth and mischief. 

He fished in the pockets of his overlarge hooded sweatshirt and then in the pockets of his baggy jeans, eventually producing a tightly rolled twenty dollar bill.

Albrect rifled through his satchel and pulled out four tablets, wrapping them in a tissue before handing them over. Sebastian palmed the packet and shoved it into his hoodie, then hesitated.

"Wait, is this gonna show up on a drug test? I got a meet comin’ up, and I don’t wanna take any chances."

"Ah, what sport is it this week?"

"Cross country. But only until track and baseball start in the Spring. You ain’t answered my question, though."

"What, methylphenidate? Not unless they’re specifically testing for it. Which, why would they? It’s a federally-approved drug, widely used by children and adolescents."

"Maybe I should just drink a lotta water, flush it out, just to be safe."

"Actually, in a broad-spectrum drug test, extreme hydration is looked at as especially suspicious. But are they really doing drug tests in high school sports?"

"Sometimes, yeah. Since like, a few years ago. So, y’know. I gotta be careful."

"Really. I had no idea."

"Yeah, it’s nuts. But, at least we got guys like you who apparently know everything."

"Not everything…” Albrecht looked away, feeling an odd sense of pride. 

"Enough though. Cuz, y’know, a guy can’t go to his family doctor for everythin’."

Albrecht shrugged.

"Sometimes he needs to find other ways to cure what ails ‘im. Y’know what we really need is a dispensary here."

"Dispensary?"

"Yeah, you know," he mimed smoking by holding his thumb and forefinger to his mouth. "Medical marijuana? I hear they already got ‘em in California."

"I thought you didn’t like depressants."

"Oh, whatever!" Sebastian scoffed. "Weed don’t even count an’ you know it."

"As you say."

"Well, anyways, you should come to the meet. You could watch from the bleachers. Then you’d at least know what I’m talkin’ about, yeah?"

"Maybe so."

"You should totally come. But uh…" He looked around. "I should prob’ly get back to campus. So. Y’know. Pleasure doin’ business wit’ ya, an’ I’ll catch ya around, right?" He slapped Albrecht on the back and sped off. Albrecht returned to school at a more sedate pace. 

Konstantin found him almost as soon as he passed through the gate.

"Where did you go?" he asked, brows drawn close.

"To meet a friend," Albrecht answered, trying very hard not to think about all of those lewd fantasies, and forcing himself to make eye contact.

"They are not your friends. You know this, yes?" Konstantin’s tone was accusatory.

"What are you talking about?"

"If they try to get close to you, it is to get deals. Discounts. They are not your friends."

Albrecht saw the way Konstantin’s skin rippled between his eyebrows, turned white in the creases and flushed where it was raised. 

"What a horrible thing to say," he replied.

"Is true. Do not get sucked up."

"Do you mean sucked-up to, or sucked in?" Albrecht could feel the anger burning hot on his cheeks. "Either way, I can’t believe you’d say something like that! Just because I’m the only friend you have doesn’t mean nobody wants to be my friend.”

Konstantin stared him down, and he refused to quail. He balled his hands into fists and fought his nerve. 

"… Asshole." Konstantin remarked icily. It sounded foreign, from him, in more ways than one. Albrecht had never heard him curse in English, and the word was rusty and misshapen in his friend’s mouth, but that Konstantin chose English for the insult, sought out a word in a language with which he was less familiar, with the express purpose of hurting him, was telling. Albrecht blinked, taken aback. 

Konstantin turned and was about to leave, when Albrecht caught his wrist. 

"I had an answer for you, you know," he stated, defiance in his tone. 

"To what?" Konstantin remained facing away from him, but his voice was softer.

"What you asked. Yesterday. Before I left."

There was a pause. 

"Oh?" 

It was as though he was trying to sound disafected, but doing a poor job of it.

"I was going to say ‘yes’."

With a flick of his wrist, Konstantin freed himself from Albrecht’s grasp, and clasped his hand instead. 

"And now?" He turned slightly, only enough to watch Albrecht out of the corner of his eye.

"Do you really think people only befriend me to get better deals?"

"… No. Not only."

Albrecht let a half-smile lift the side of his mouth.

"Then yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Yeaaahhh, with a cameo by swaggie 90s hip-hop Scout! I should post my headcanon names for everybody, haaaa… Also, I wrote this on an iPhone 3, which tries to autocorrect “hsau” to “G’day”.
> 
> If you want to see more, or if you want to see drawings of the HSAU characters, find me on tumblr under the same name, and search my 'hsau' tag!


End file.
